


Guilt Whispers To Me

by alittlepieceofgundamwing_archivist



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Creepy, Dark, Gore, M/M, Multiple Endings, Not for the very religious, POV Alternating, Shounen-ai, Violence, bit o' sap by the first ending, by Lyssira, graphic Duo angst, lots of angst by the second, with gundams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-28 00:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13892175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlepieceofgundamwing_archivist/pseuds/alittlepieceofgundamwing_archivist
Summary: by Lyssira--If I listen carefully, I can truly hear them. The screaming and crying rings through my ears, even when others hear silence. They do not end when consciousness is no more. Those cries of terror echo on forever, trapped in a far more twisted purgatory than anything Hell's demons could create, terrified by the one thing more evil than Hell, more tainted than Satan himself. What is a more painful fate than being sealed within limbo? What could possibly be worse than awaiting the choice between Heaven and Hell in that chamber of spirits tortured for lifetimes, generations... eternities?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

AC 195  
  
<Duo's POV>  
  
If I listen carefully, I can truly hear them. The screaming and crying rings through my ears, even when others hear silence. They do not end when consciousness is no more. Those cries of terror echo on forever, trapped in a far more twisted purgatory than anything Hell's demons could create, terrified by the one thing more evil than Hell, more tainted than Satan himself. What is a more painful fate than being sealed within limbo? What could possibly be worse than awaiting the choice between Heaven and Hell in that chamber of spirits tortured for lifetimes, generations... eternities?   
  
What is worse? The human mind, of course. Mine, to be specific. Although I hold on to their memories with an iron grip now, I left those I cared the most about to a fate worse than death long ago. They've haunted me for five years, their final shrieks of anguish on my mind day after day. I knew, and always have known that they could never forgive me. Even as I cling to childhood memories, I am condemned by their pain and suffering to receive such ten thousand fold until the end of time. What forgiveness? What grace? There was none and I knew it. I had always know it.  
  
Mostly, I do not think of them. Only in the hours between moon-rise and dawn do they visit me. During the night, when all is still, my fellow murderers silenced by rest after a long day's work, then I hear the moans and wails of those in pain. A hurt I had caused them. And every night, feigning sleep, I relive the bloodiest, most tragic mistake of my life. Bloody. Tragic. To think that those words are enough to describe the carnage. Mere adjectives will never be enough to tell the tale of those dying there. Scavengers pulling apart the bodies of those who'd been my friends, kin only hours before. The flies. The stench of death, old blood an odor I wish I'd never came in contact with. It seems I can never be clean of that stink, no matter how many times I scrub my skin raw. I left the massacre on my own two feet.   
  
Yet I am still standing there, alone in the ruin of a church, seeing it, breathing it. Everyday I fight I am there. And every morning I wake to that place, I find I am too late. So I rise from "rest" each time the sun touches the sky, knowing I cannot cease to fight while I remain unable to fix that one mistake that ended everything, that began something totally different. Began purgatory for those living and deceased.  
  
Waking up alone in my Gundam is the safest way to deal with these visions, that everlasting presence in the back of my mind. It is death completely, something you can taste, smell, hear, see...feel in the air around you. I find it best for me to wake there. I may find a way to calm my pulse, rid my brow of the cold sweat that dream always brings. There is no one to worry or care. No living being to realize I'm just as fucked up as they think I am. Alone, with my last friend in the world, my only ally, Shinigami, then I can be safe from prying eyes. But sometimes there's no way for me to remain with the Gundanium giant that had become home and savior to me. It was a dark cavern that no one could reach, where there was just me and the guilt whispering in my ear, that oppressive guilt that could never mercifully destroy me, only serving to bring more pain.  
  
Yet, in the safehouses, when I am separated from the benevolent God of Death's protection, the very walls have eyes and I cannot hide so easily. A grin, easy mask, cheerful laugh was placed for all to see, remaining happy and carefree more of a chore than being gloomy had ever been. Among them, I must assume a part in this performance of Treize's where we are but minor actors. The part of the jester or clown suits me well. Since the battles began, none suspected a thing. The dreams, scenes from a past too bloody and torn to be a figment of my subconsciousness, continue.  
  
As long as I linger with the others, my secret is in danger of being discovered, their pity not something I can afford in this costly war. During those missions, where we work as one, I tried to lock myself a single, private room. Yet even one who had dodged death many times could not keep always his luck. I planned for my privacy to remain impenetrable, so that the ghosts lurking in my shadow might've stayed a mystery. I hoped...I prayed for this to be so. I really did.....


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Lyssira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

<Duos POV>  
  
I'd never known the contentment of sleep before that night. There was always some sort of dream: when I huddled on my own in the streets, in that little church-orphanage and afterwards. I can imagine I'd slept peacefully through night in my early childhood, but that time had been brief. Whoever actually gave a damn about me is gone, I can be sure of that. The gray world where most people spend their nights is heaven. There are no worries, no concerns. It truly is the place of rest. So it can be understood that I would want to remain there for as long as possible.  
  
At first, I heard someone's voice calling me, distant, barely an echo in my mind. I refused to respond. Why would I want to leave? The only thing I had to go back to was them and their war-their game. The other four would be working on their Gundams-such fine toys for children, ne? Shinigami could wait for me. He would have my skills at his disposal soon enough. I wanted to stay in the gray world and savor what normal people took for granted every night.  
  
The voice was louder, more urgent. I knew what they were going to tell me, ‘Maxwell get your lazy ass out of bed!' And I didn't care for their opinions, not even Quatre's. Especially not Heero Yuy's. They could do as they pleased, if they only left me alone.  
  
I grumbled to myself and rolled over again. No, this place was mine. They couldn't take it away. I was the only thief there and it was going to stay that way. Hands began shaking me, roughly, as though they were afraid to touch me. Afraid of getting stained? I pulled as far away from their hesitant touches as I possibly could. Leave me alone, I told them silently, Leave me alone! What the **** could possibly be so important? It shouldn't matter to them what kind of state Deathscythe is in. They relied on me as much as I relied on them. Which is to say, not at all.  
  
Finally, the spell was broken. My eyes snapped open, buried where they were in the soft down of my pillow. The couch was coarse beneath my skin but I welcomed the sensation. It wasn't any rougher than my first priest outfit, on my first day of school...  
  
I shoved the thoughts away. It was daylight-no time for that now. I could think of them later, when the moon was up and I could imagine seeing their faces without blood. Though, eventually memories would travel to the time I dread, a single afternoon that ruined everything.  
  
The hands were still shaking me. Of course, whoever it was had no way of knowing they'd exiled me from the dreamworld. For all they knew I was busy imagining half-dressed girls and all the sick things I'd do with them. I almost laughed into my pillow. If only that was the worst of my problems. I reached out to grab the wrist of whoever had been saddled with the job of rousing me. But instead of flesh, warm and pulsing with life, my fingers met bone and decaying skin. I yelped and yanked my hand away, as if it burned. Was I dreaming?  
  
The hand clenched my shoulder, a faraway voice asking me what was wrong, to wake up...  
  
I jumped up from the couch, shedding my blanket, a reaching for the gun that was always secured at my hip. It felt solid in my hands, the edges of the metal bit into the flesh of my palm. I yanked back the safety immediately, eyes locked on the creature before me. It wasn't human anymore, though it had been at some point. I felt my eyes widen, my stomach roll. I wanted to retch, especially when a wave of its stench hit me, the smell of old blood and rot that I knew so well.  
  
The thing was about my height, it might have been my age when it was alive. It had no eyes, only sockets. The pure white of it's skull was sullied by soft, gray tissue and red fluid. Blood. Its mouth stretched in the lipless grin of a corpse, traces of what was left of its tongue slithering behind cracked teeth. Tatters of clothing hung off of bone, all of the cloth stained a dark rusted color. It's ribs hug out, like the mouth of cavern. Inside was more of the gray-yellow goo and I was glad my stomach was empty or its contents would've been on the floor.  
  
I tried not to look too closely after my first glance. As a professional murderer, I knew what kind of creatures inhabited the bodies of the dead. If I saw them, it wouldn't matter when the last time I ate was. My fingers shivered around my gun. It moved toward me, a walking plague.  
  
"Stay away!" I told it, "Don't come away closer!"  
  
"Duo! What the hell are you doing?" the corpse's mouth moved not quite in sync with the words. If it was an old horror movie, the effect would've been comical. It wasn't a horror movie though, and I could only think how the voice sounded suspiciously like Wufei.  
  
"Leave me alone!" I said aloud, now, raising my gun to point at the creature's head.  
  
"It's me! Put the gun down," the voice growled again. Was it Wufei?  
  
_I have to be dreaming..._  
  
I tightened my hold on the weapon. The corpse took a step towards me, extending its skinless hand.  
  
"Go away!" I yelled, ready to draw the trigger.  
  
"What's wrong with you?" the creature took another step, now only two feet from me. I could smell its stale breath.  
  
"Ugnnn..."my gut tightened painfully, "No...please."  
  
"Duo?" I could see that hand reaching for me again and I wasn't sure if I could escape it a second time. My finger squeezed the trigger hard, but I couldn't hear the shot go off. The world became gray all at once and I thought I might go unconscious.  
  
Then I was back and the scene was painfully clear. The bullet had splintered the wall behind it. It turned to look, sockets seeming impossibly huge, but when it faced me again, there was no corpse. Wufei stood there, in his typical work outfit. He looked amazed as he studied the bullet, smoking in our temporary living room wall. Then he looked at me, then the bullet. I don't know if he was shocked, terrified, furious or all three. But, it was Wufei...no empty sockets, no decaying muscle hanging off white bone, no wide open grin.  
  
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I heard guilt chuckling thickly. I ran after that, dropping the gun on the carpet. I ran, despite wearing only ragged sweats and a t-shirt. I couldn't bear the house anymore, it seemed to suffocate me. I pushed past someone-it could've been Quatre-and threw myself out the door. I had to run. My feet peddled the sidewalk. All I saw was Wufei, staring at the wall and at me, onyx eyes huge with surprise.  
  
And fear.  
  
+  
  
<Heero's POV>  
  
A gunshot shook me out of steady typing on the laptop. It rattled the wall next to me, the one shared with the living room below. The computer in front me beeped, the screen going black. I gritted my teeth. Interruptions were such a nuisance! I had come fairly close to hacking into the Alliance's mother computer. But a hesitation tended to make the server distrustful and a few minutes couldn't be afforded to break up another stupid argument between my four comrades.  
  
I stood up, fists clenched. It was anything less than a possible treason, they were all going to hell. Now.  
  
I was tired of dealing with people by this point, tired of watching personalities clash. I was sick of their voices, of their presence. I was sick of making eye contact with people who knew what it was like to fire on a building, knowing all the while there people inside: fathers, brothers, fiances. Who knew what it was like to murder. Their awareness bothered me. I wanted ignorance. I wanted to watch Relena's eyes, empty of any such memories and know that there were people who would never know. I wanted to know there was still innocence to protect somewhere. And I couldn't among these four.  
  
I saw Quatre staring out the window on my way down the rickety stairs. He didn't seem to recognize my presence until I was right behind him. His eyes were alight with curiosity and, at the same time, worry. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what had caused the gunshot or what had made Quatre look like that. Even in the most dire situations, I'd never seen him look that worried. I cleared my throat quietly, trying not to disturb him.  
  
"Something's wrong, Heero," he said, without turning to face me, "I don't know what it is, but something is very wrong."  
  
"What happened?" I asked, hoping to keep any emotion out of my voice. Somewhere, I agreed him, though. The air had become cold, despite the sun shining in the sky.  
  
"Don't know yet."  
  
Quatre followed me to the living room where we found Trowa and Wufei. The green-eyed soldier stood straight and tall, as always. His posture didn't change, neither did his face. There was no emotion. He was only listening. So it must have involved Wufei. The Chinese boy looked very shaken, his eyes flickering back and forth while he spoke. I had to crane my neck to see what he was looking at. A bullet hole. Smoking in the wall. I suppressed a shiver.  
  
"...Then he fired, but he missed me. And he ran, like the hounds of hell were chasing him. I don't know what happened to him. It was the strangest thing."  
  
"Duo?" I asked, not surprised.  
  
Wufei nodded, "It was as if he didn't recognize me. I was trying to him wake up and...he acted as if I was attacking him."  
  
We all looked at each other, probably thinking the same thing. Had he betrayed us? Or was there something else going on? Drugs, perhaps. I wouldn't put it past him to bury his grief beneath a high. Whatever had happened, we would have to fix it sooner or later. Another problem with having comrades. I'd always known that I couldn't depend on them.  
  
"The balance is broken," Wufei said, finally tearing his eyes away from the bullet in the wall. He slammed the hanger door, obviously going to divine some answers from his "Nataku."  
  
I snorted. There's never been a balance to begin with. Only chaos.  
  
+  
  
<Duo's POV>  
  
They were all around me. Every yard, every sidewalk held them. I saw corpse after corpse, all bloodstained, all grinning at me a skull's grin. Some of them were missing limbs, a few heads. One looked as if it had been burned to death-the bone was blackened and cracked. There were children, adults. Men and women. I ran past them, listening to their living voices, shrieks of laughter from children who stared at me with eyeless sockets.  
  
I wanted to scream, to cry. To do anything but watch them go about life as though nothing had changed. A pair of the creatures, embraced and kissed, as if they had lips and hands to show affection. I wanted it to stop.  
_  
Why won't it stop?_  
  
I don't know how long I ran until I reached the graveyard. It was devoid of human life. My only company was those already dead. The gate creaked behind me. The peace of a graveyard settled over me. I'd never ventured into one before this, only watching them with a sense of unease. I've caused enough graveyards in my short left. I never wanted to linger in them. But there were no stares here, no people at all. I gasped with the relief. The guilt had lifted for a while.  
  
I walked through the rows of tombstones, reading names like Smith, Brandon, Lewis. There were normal people buried here, who'd never seen what I had or felt what I had. They'd never known war. They'd never watched their only friends die because of what they did. I fed off their tranquility, letting my lungs heave with the effort of running and of terror.  
  
I didn't realize I was crying until I saw the tree. It's ancient limbs seemed blurred and I wondered why. I reached up to rub my eyes and clear them. My fingers met tears. When was the last time I'd cried? It was in another graveyard wasn't it?  
  
Standing before me was an ancient oak, it's leaves hanging over me like a tender embrace. If I'd felt relieved when I first stepped in the graveyard, I felt blessed here. There was a single tombstone under the tree, its message carved simply by loving hands:  
  
_Reverend Peter Lane The devoted father of our community_  
  
The name meant nothing to me, but the inscription did. I traced my fingers along the etchings, dampening them with tears. A good father, who had given these people what they needed. How odd that he gave me peace, as well. Did this man die, knowing his final resting place would bring comfort for a mass-murderer? The god of Death. I smiled bitterly. Then I collapsed and cried until I could no more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Lyssira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

<Duo's POV>  
  
I don't think I'll ever know how long I stayed in that graveyard, how much time I spent crying (or not depending on how macho I feel like being each new day) and thinking. It was such a relief to sob and not have anyone hear me. If it wasn't so painful I think I would've done it more often. I hadn't been a child who could simply shed tears. Crying never solved anything. My nose felt like it had been scraped raw, then pressed with salt. My cheeks had dredges from the passage of acidic tears. I probably looked like shit. But, fuck, inside it felt good.   
  
No one visited the yard often; there were weeds overgrown around the fence and I was still prepubescent the last time they mowed the lawn. My sneakers were probably the first to mar the firmly packed Earth for years. That didn't surprise me. This was an average suburban community. Their dance was simple. Birth. Growth. Death. They didn't dwell on the dying because there was no need. Funny, it was all I'd ever known. Death. Growing wasn't important. You're born, you die. Only the lucky get to live in between. I shut the gate behind me, leaving their dead behind. They'd never know I was here. No one would find the tear stains on the old tree or the imprint in overgrown grass of a lost boy...man? Soldier?  
  
I didn't hurry on the way back to the safe house. I could imagine the greeting I'd have. They'd think I was a traitor, Heero would do his little song and dance about removing all obstacles, then I would talk my way out of it. Talking had never been a problem for me. It was admitting the `personal stuff' that always got me. Go figure. Quatre would be compassionate, Wufei would be skeptical and Trowa-Trowa would stand there. I never knew what I'd say to the guys in charge until I arrived at the right place, like an improvisational actor without the applause. If Heero didn't finally kill me, I'd consider myself a hit.   
  
I avoided all people on the way home, taking a winding, twisting route that only the mad or the desperate could understand. That morning's nightmare might have faded within the wrought-iron barriers of the graveyard. But on the sidewalk it returned, fresh in my mind, a horror movie on repeat. The memory of rotting flesh sent shivers down my spine. Where had that come from? Was I finally really succumbing to this? Or was I still dreaming? Does a lunatic know he's insane? I wondered, keeping my eyes on the trees as I walked, willing them not to shrivel and die under my gaze.  
  
They stayed green.  
  
Sunlight flickered off the pavement, warmed my back as I walked. It's golden glow soothed my nerves somewhat and I willed myself not to think anymore until I got back. The less thinking, the less time to regret what might've happened to Wufei if my aim hadn't been off. The less time to think what could've happened on my run away from that house if I'd had my gun. Less time for worrying and regretting. All thinking did was cause grief and drive me closer to the brink. If man had never learned to think, everything would've been so much simpler-- no war, no peace, no need for either.  
  
I studied the blossoms on the fruit trees and smiled. If only. The house we were staying in arrived on my path all too quickly. I watched the spring sky for a long time, standing out on the lawn. The curtains shifted on the windows. I saw them, though no one else would. No one else would be looking. The birds sang above me and I raised my eyes to them. The others could wait, especially if this was the last day I would see the sun. It was beautiful.   
  
I searched the puffy, white clouds for a sign I should say something. What could I say? I'm sorry? Really, sometimes I wondered if I was at all.  
  
The curtains shifted again. I smirked. _Impatient are we?_  
  
"I didn't lie," I told those clouds, finally. Raising a hand to the heavens, I told the sun goodbye. I told the birds and the grass. I told the kids across the street, even if they didn't hear me.   
  
The door opened without a creak. I stepped across the threshold, allowing it to slam behind me. Quatre, blonde hair nearly white in the gloom, stood before me, shifting his weight. I shrugged, waiting for him to speak. Heero lurked behind the door. Trowa crouched in the next room. I think Wufei was somewhere under the stairwell. If this wasn't an obvious set up, I didn't know what was. Winner's son bit his lip. I could read the war going on behind the blue-green screens. He knew he was supposed to be my friend. But it was his mission to `lure me in.'  
  
"Are you alright Duo?" he asked, taking a step towards me. I took another back.  
  
"I'm just wonderful, thanks."  
  
"Wufei told me you...were kind of upset this morning," he persisted, if reluctantly.  
  
"Oh really," I faked a yawn, studied my fingernails. Grass and gunpowder had mixed under them.  
  
"Yeah. I thought there might have been a mistake," Quatre looked up at me. His eyes were full of hope. He didn't want to break up our fragile little team.   
  
"Do we have to talk about this now, Quat? I need to go work on Deathscythe," I tried to push past him to the living room and, beyond that, the door to the hanger. Naturally, I didn't get that far. A cold ring pressed against my forehead. I let an easy, silly grin spread across my face. My Prussian-eyed counterpart didn't see the humor in the situation. Of course, I'd never known him to find humor in anything that was really funny. The metal bit into my skull. "Why, Heero," I quipped, "what a surprise."  
  
"Confess," he ordered.  
  
"To what, old buddy, old pal?" I asked.  
  
"You're a traitor," Heero growled. I laughed.  
  
_If you were any farther from the truth, you'd be on Mars, chum._  
  
"A traitor? Why would I betray you guys?" I blinked my big, blue- violet eyes innocently, blinked for all I was worth.  
  
"I don't know, why would you?" he asked.  
  
_Oh, great comeback! Been watching those old, detective movies, Heero?_  
  
"Well, if you don't know and I don't know, why doesn't Trowa tell us? Or Wufei? Quatre? C'mon guys, somebody's gotta know," I called cheerfully.  
  
_Care to phone a friend?_  
  
"Why did you try to kill Wufei?" the 'Perfect Soldier' asked me, deadpan. I snorted.  
  
"Kill Wufei? Me? Really, now! You know I'd never harm a hair on Wufei's head!"   
  
"You shot at him and missed," he continued.  
  
"I must've misfired, that's all," I shrugged.  
  
"I don't think so," Heero snapped.  
  
_You think? Really? I thought you just followed instructions like a good, wittle puppet._  
  
My smile hardened, "Heero, Heero, don't you know anything? If I'd wanted to kill Wufei, he'd be dead. It was an accident."  
  
The gun pressed harder against my skull. By the time this was finished, I'd have a neat, little round mark in my forehead. Or large, bloody hole.  
  
"What's really going on, Duo?" his glared intensified, as if he could burn holes into my eyes with his own. As if he could see past them into my soul. Ha.   
  
"We can help you, if that's what you need!" Quatre said from behind him, eyes brimming with compassion.   
  
"I don't need help, Quatre, but thanks," I smiled for real. Sweet, dependable Quatre. It's gonna get him killed some day. I moved to walk away but Heero's gun followed me and his free hand moved to clench around my arm. I ignored the pain.   
  
"Admit you need help or admit you betrayed us," he commanded. I laughed aloud again.  
  
"What no choice C?"  
  
"Choice C being I pull the trigger."   
  
"Oh. Well I pick C, then. Cuz, as we all know, you don't have the balls to shoot anyone up close, Heero. Maybe if you back up and climb the stairs a bit, you'll being able to handle it," I said.  
  
_Go ahead, Superman, end it all for me._  
  
If it was silent when I walked in, it was tomblike after that. I could've heard a flea hiccup in the silence. Heero's fist tightened around my arm until I couldn't feel it anymore. His eyes were blazing, now. Though, the veins hadn't to start bulging out of his forehead yet. Quatre and Trowa didn't say a word. Wufei, having missed my last statement, poked his head in the doorway. I glanced around at the drab decor. What a place to die. I should've chosen something cooler–more dramatic. Heero's index finger quivered at the trigger. I could see in his eyes he wanted to badly. I wondered if he could see that I wanted him to just as much.  
  
At the last moment, though, he was faltering and I decided it wouldn't be today. I ducked under his arm (Not easy--he's not that much taller than I) and kicked his legs out from under him. He, in turn, grabbed my shirt and yanked me down with him. The gun slid across the floor as we fought, I with no style and he with every method of hand-to-hand combat that the old bastard ever taught him. I landed my share of blows, as did he. We were pretty evenly matched to be honest. After all, Heero may have been handling guns when he was seven, but I was beating the shit out of kids three times my size. He was in the middle of pounding my ribs to powder when Trowa hauled him off me.   
  
"Goddamn you!" Heero growled me, restrained by the taller boy.  
  
"Little late, Heero," I hissed and smiled, despite the blood dripping from my lips. Wufei, pulled me up, hesitantly, as if he were afraid to touch me. I offered no resistance. Trowa guided the Japanese pilot off to the bathroom. He was still glaring so hard his face must have cramped. I grinned. How lovely to infuriate someone. I admit making others suffer when you're feeling shitty is great fun. Heero was an easy target. And I was in the right kind of mood. Wufei's hands still rested on my shoulders.  
  
"Sorry 'bout this morning," I said to him, wiping the blood from my lip. It smeared across the back of my hand.  
  
"Why...?" he asked, bemused.   
  
"I'm sure you have bad dreams sometimes, Wufei," I said to him, shaking off his touch.   
  
"Sure," he shrugged.  
  
"Sometimes the bad dreams are just too much," I said simply.  
  
With that, I walked away, knowing he wouldn't follow. He was headed for Nataku. He slept there sometimes, like with me and Deathscythe. Gundanium was the strongest material after all. We were more protected in our suits than anywhere else. I followed the moth-eaten carpet to the hanger door.   
  
Time to give my buddy a visit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Lyssira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).
> 
> WARNING!!! This particular part is VERY bloody and graphic. I mean it. If descriptive violence or gore bothers you at all, I'm warning you away now. *I* had trouble reading it. In fact...*glances around* In the words of the Great Gonzo, you're on your own folks. I'll meet in you in the next part!

<Duo's POV>  
  
The inside of a gundam is like a coffin sometimes; the walls are so close they're practically people that lean in and read the console over your shoulder. They weren't built with large, luxurious cockpits where the pilot can stretch, walk around or even hide behind the seats. Sleeping in them guarantees a stiff neck the next morning, perhaps even a few limbs tingling from the lack of blood flow. I preferred that to the company of my fellow pilots nonetheless. I'd slept my Gundam in the last year more than I'd slept in a real bed during the last five. The only bed I could really remember was debris in a ruined church, serving as material for a parasite's nest.   
  
I fell asleep after working on Deathscythe often. A stash of junk food under the seat insured I didn't starve. I spent the afternoon doing basic checks and repairs. Shinigami was in top condition. There just wasn't much for me to do. So, I finished a luxurious meal of twinkies, hohos and greasy potato chips. It was all pretty tasteless, but I gulped it down anyway. This was what Americans ate right? It didn't matter. Being accused of betrayal, almost killing a fellow guerilla and taking an unexpected five-mile run tends to make a person hungry.   
  
My post-dinner plan was to take a short nap and see if I couldn't improve the reaction time on my Gundam. It was getting slow, to be honest.  
  
My world became dreamless gray.  
  
+  
  
The first thing I saw upon waking was a blurry streak of neon red in front of my eyes. I blinked hard but the image didn't clear. I felt the cold bite of metal across of my cheek. Groaning, I pushed myself into a sitting position. The clock on my main console glowed 4:50 AM. Discarded tools and cellophane wrappers littered the floor around me. I stretched, feeling twelve of my vertebra pop. The trash got kicked into a corner as I left the Gundam.   
  
No one would be awake yet, I knew. It was the perfect time to take a shower, steal some breakfast and clean clothes. Even Wufei didn't rise this early.  
  
Mist clustered around the rented house like an army of ghosts. I could barely make out soulless, gaping windows through the gray. It had been a farmhouse once, before the town grew up around it. Our `hanger', just barely big enough for all five of the Gundams, must have been a barn. I tried to imagine a row of stalls where Deathscythe's massive feet rested, stalls with impatient cows ready to be milked. Not that I know much about that stuff. We read used picture books before bed, the ones donated every spring by the kiddies who'd outgrown them and parents who wanted more shelf space. I missed it.  
  
The moon hung low on the western side of Earth, ready to dip below the horizon at any moment. Stars and colonies alike had faded from the sky, leaving only gray. Not a creature stirred. I shivered and reached for the door. Locked. Of course, they would hope I'd forgotten my other means of entrance out of carelessness. I slid my pick from the second twist in my braid. It seemed Fortune was on my side this morning.  
  
_Tough luck, guys._  
  
The kitchen was dark and still, the same with the living room beyond. No footfalls echoed from the stairs. Not that the lack of sound meant much. I slipped into the house without so much of a click when the door swung shut. Moving through shadows, I smirked at the dirty dishes piled high in the sink. Looked like Heero had drawn the short straw after dinner. He knew jack shit about cleaning. In the living room, they'd covered the bullet hole from the day before with plaster. I let my hand drift across the uneven surface.   
  
Upstairs, I listened to the slumbering of my fellow pilots. The room I shared with Winner's heir was quiet. Quatre mumbled lightly in his sleep, something about peace and strawberry cream. I smiled, silently filching new clothes from my duffle.   
  
Trowa was a wild sleeper and, by the sound of it, had kicked all his covers to the floor and now suffered from the cold. Heero, I knew I wouldn't hear. He never moved, never gave a clue to whether he lived or not when asleep. There were few differences between him during day and night, save he tended to handle a gun better and spoke when necessary during the day.   
  
The last room was still. Wufei did not rest in his bed that early morning. Though when he did, he cried in his sleep.   
  
_If only OZ knew what they were up against._  
  
We shared a single bathroom, which made for interesting mornings. I cared little enough about hot water that it didn't really bother me. I made sure to make lots of noise about it, though. I was supposed to be obnoxious, right? I shed my sweat-soaked, grease-streaked clothes easily. They'd be washed later and would hopefully survive the process. My braid tickled the bare skin of both thighs. In the mirror, I inspected my pale hide, noting the scars and a collection of bruises from my confrontation with Heero.   
  
_Not bad. He probably walked away with the same._  
  
I let the eighty year old plumbing warm up before stepping into the tiled shower stall. The ceramic was cracked beneath my feet. Icy water rained down on my head, carrying away the grime from yesterday. I fiddled with the knobs, trying to reach an agreeable temperature. Gradually, the cascade warmed and I closed my eyes on the comfort. It soothed the aches away, relaxed every taunt muscle. There are few things better than a hot shower on a cool morning.   
  
After a few moments, the water didn't stop heating. And it thickened against my skin, thicker than water should have been. My eyes opened out of curiosity to a sea of crimson. The water poured all over me, red water. It stank of something familiar, the familiarity of death. I licked my lips, cleaning them of it.   
  
The liquid carried the salty, bittersweet taste of blood.  
  
I don't know if I yelled or shoved against the shower wall first. But my next coherent thought was of landing on hands and knees amid a layer of shattered glass. My palms and legs twinged sharply from the pain. I was still screaming, though I didn't realize it. The shower of blood flowed on, in the stall, splattering me with vital liquid since it now lacked its door. I lurched to my feet, ignoring the glass points digging into the soles. In the mirror, I saw myself, drenched in it. It stained my flesh a dark, sinister red-black, caked my hair. I saw my own eyes staring back at me. Blood dripped from the lashes.   
  
A towel found its way to my hand. And another. And another. I dropped them all to the floor, the fabric now stained scarlet. I stumbled into my clothes, eyes still on the rain of blood. My stomach turned.   
  
_It's not real, it can't be real, it's not real._  
  
My hands left brilliantly red marks on the walls. I stopped to look at them, seeing my fingerprints neatly outlined in crimson. We'd made hand prints once, in the orphanage, using ink and construction paper. I'd been particularly proud of mine, since they didn't smear and you could recognize the unique pattern on each finger. My eyes widened in horror as those outlines welled up with blood and dripped down the walls. Though, it couldn't have all been mine. Those were only tiny cuts, after all . . . I pressed both hands to my head. More and more blood dripped down, now in scarlet sheets. The walls bled. The entire bathroom reeked of it.  
  
I fumbled with the lock on the door, ignoring the urge to pound desperately on it. Finally, it opened, revealing the hallway to me. I froze. A scream rose up in the my throat, though I ignored it. I think if I had screamed, I would not have stopped, would not have been able to.   
  
Blood oozed down the walls. It ran off into the carpet to make growing puddles. Grotesque patterns formed in the streams, sometimes looking like faces or animals. It squished under my feet where they rested. Drops splashed against the back of my neck when they slid off the doorframe. That scream tried to force its way to the surface. I wanted to scream. All I could see was red, just red. The shape of the hall was beginning to disappear under the flow of it.  
  
_Bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood_ echoed in my ears. I didn't recognize the words as my own.  
  
A groan fought its way past my lips.  
  
_Bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood_  
  
I clutched both hands to my ears.  
  
_Bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood_  
  
"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!"  
  
Heero and Trowa's door opened, both boys crouched behind it, guns drawn. They stared at me. They didn't even glance at the walls or the carpet. Blood was dripping down the tall clown's arms to his hands, clenched around the metal. He didn't seem to notice. They didn't seem to notice anything, only stared. I stared back and mumbled something to them before running down the hall. I slid on the thick pools of liquid. It flowed lazily down the staircase in miniature waterfalls, gurgling and bubbling. My throat clenched around bitter bile.   
  
I leapt the length of the staircase, hearing a bone crack under me when I landed in sea of red. It soaked into my jeans, still warm, as if freshly spilled. I threw myself out the front door, heedless of the sharp pain shooting up my leg, of the footsteps thundering down the stairs, of the scarlet rivers that ran out onto the concrete threshold.   
  
Rolling in the soft, dew-strewn grass I smiled with relief at the freedom. The sun blazed fire-red at the horizon, ready to lift into a soft pink sky. It was ok. It would be ok.   
  
My hand rested in something sticky. I looked down at it and the scream that had been buried before exploded from my throat. Between the blades of emerald green, gushed dark, crimson seas. I only stopped screaming when my stomach also gave in and milky yellow mingled with the red.  
  
And then, there was nothing.  
  
+  
  
<Trowa's POV>  
  
Screams aren't rare when we share safehouses. I don't doubt that my comrades suffer from the worst kinds of nightmares. The kind that are real. Usually, I sleep through whatever troubles them out of reflex. They don't want my interference so I won't bother them with it. That morning, I woke up to find my sheets and blankets deposited on the floor next to my temporary bed. I shivered. Heero slept across the room, ignoring everything as usual. He was probably already awake, making new schedules for today. Maybe he was deciding what to do with Duo.   
  
I slid out of bed, remaking it with the fallen covers. Stretching, I wondered if I'd actually get the shower first. No luck. Water hissed through the pipes in the wall next to me. Wufei always beat the rest of us. Then, Heero would grab it. Then, me. Then, Quatre. Duo almost always got it last, poor guy. Though, I doubted that's why he shot at Wufei. I yanked on a faded, terry-clothe robe. A gun was safely stored in its pocket. There was another under my pillow, a third in my duffel, two more stowed in various unused wardrobe drawers and the sixth under a floorboard. Heero had about two and a half times that many.  
  
A hoarse cry shattered the calm of early morning. It echoed ominously on the tiled walls of the bathroom next to us. Heero's eyes snapped open immediatly, meeting mine. He jumped out of bed, wearing only boxers and a tanktop, gun in hand. The sound of glass shattering followed. There were thumps of flesh hitting the walls, the floor. Desperate hands gripped the knob and tore the door open, its hinges squealing in protest. Heero and I were to the doorway within a second, cracking it open to see-  
  
Duo crouched there, his mouth open in silent terror. He stared at us, stared at the walls and floor. His gaze traced lines from the doorframe to my hands, where they held the gun. Each violet orb was filled with animal terror. It was as if he didn't see Heero and I. Wufei's words from the day before echoed in my ears.   
  
// "He didn't recognize me" //  
  
Before either of us could say anything, he sped down the hall. A loud crash shook the staircase. Heero and I, soon followed by a bleary- eyed Quatre, hurried to find the source. We arrived just in time to see Duo fling himself through the front door as though his very life depended on it. He lay in the grass for a few minutes, chest heaving for want of air. Then he looked at both his hands and screamed -- screamed to the heavens. Even when he had no voice left, he was still screaming. Then, he emptied his stomach on the lawn, choking out what must have been his last meal. Still crying out hoarsely, Duo collapsed.  
  
I picked him up a few minutes later. The sun rose in the sky, signaling the beginning of morning. Duo was heavier than one might think. His limbs dangled limply around my own. Inside, I set him down on the couch. Quatre searched for a medical kit. Duo's hands and feet were bleeding sluggishly. Cuts ran up the length of his shins, glass embedded in the flesh. His left ankle hung at the wrong angle. I met Heero's eyes, questioningly. He looked away.   
  
// "He ran like hell was chasing him." //


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Lyssira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

<Quatre's POV>  
  
The bathroom floor was littered with glass, some of it tinted red by Duo's spilled blood. Trowa had gone to buy a new door for the shower stall. Heero stood next to me, silent and still. He hadn't said a word all morning. He'd even hosed the vomit from the front yard without comment. Wufei was in the room I shared with Duo, keeping watch over him.   
  
I began sweeping the jagged shards into a neat pile. The larger pieces I picked up and disposed of. I ran a small vacuum cleaner over the cracked tiles. Any of us could step on a tiny piece of glass and get an infection. Imagine, an infection getting an infection.   
  
Heero joined me after a moment. Together, we unscrewed the sliding shower door from its frame. I stood at the sink, washing my hands. Duo's blood stained them, as it had stained the glass. I stared around the bathroom. A pile of towels were scattered at my feet. For moment, they were soaked through with blood, painted by the crimson liquid. But then, they were white again, only slightly flecked red by the glass. I blinked.  
  
"Quatre," Heero's voice cut through my confusion. The towels were still white.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Take this," Heero held out a hand gun, immaculately cared for, as were all of his weapons. I could almost see my own reflection in its polished surface.  
  
The only sound was the soft murmuring of an old house. Finally, I shook my head.  
  
He understood why, that I knew. There was always that trace of sympathy in Heero's expression, if you knew where to look for it. He knew I wouldn't take it. But his glare deepened nonetheless and he continued to offer me the gun.  
  
"You don't know what he'll do next," he told me, "He's unstable."  
  
"I know," I said.  
  
"You need to be able to protect yourself."  
  
"Don't worry about it," a familiar, soft voice broke in. Trowa stood in the doorway, somehow managing to balance himself and the new shower door on the ball of one foot. Heero switched his attention - always focused, like that of a bird of prey - onto Trowa's green eyes.   
  
"Quatre can take care of himself," he told Heero.  
  
Heero grunted. I sighed and turned to helping them install the new door. It'd be nice to be able to take a shower. It was a luxury the five of us had gotten used to in the time we'd been waiting for orders. Hot water and soap weren't often available after a fight. With the Maguanacs, I was luckier than the others; even they experienced shortages, though, and we often went without. When the final screws and springs were in place, we looked at each other questioningly. Had I attended to Sandrock yet _again_ , the finish would probably start to rub off.  
  
"When he wakes up-" I began, studying Heero for a reaction.  
  
"Get answers from him, Quatre," he said.  
  
"And if I can't? He doesn't trust me any more than he trusts. . ."  
  
"Me," Heero stated in the same factual manner he said most things.  
  
"Or any of us," Trowa reminded him.  
  
"Then, we'll have to rely on other methods."   
  
I thought of the gun and glared, "That won't solve anything."  
  
Before he or Trowa could retort, a now-familiar scream echoed from the second-to-next room. We jogged towards the source of the sound, not a question of who it was in our minds. Heero and Trowa drew their guns, in case Duo had somehow threatened Wufei again. I doubted he had. With one good ankle and no weapons, anything Duo did would be ineffectual against the martial artist. Wufei had few equals in hand- to-hand combat.   
  
As if to prove my thoughts, the Chinese boy met us at the door, completely composed. He held a book in one hand, a set of keys in the other. He dropped the keys into my hand. Then, he nonchalantly strode down the stairs, as if nothing had happened in the last two days.  
  
"He's awake," he called back to us. I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me. My heart sank.  
  
If Duo had shouted himself hoarse before, he'd certainly gained his voice back. He arched off the bed, hands clapped firmly over his ears, eyes impossibly large with terror. His skin had been drained of color until the veins beneath it shown dark against the translucent flesh. His unfocused gaze spun around the room. After a moment, his screams began to form words. Streams of profanity shook the walls of the house, mainly " _SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP_!" He twisted himself in the sheets and, when completely entangled, clawed against them to free himself.  
  
"Duo," I said.   
  
He should not have been able to hear me over himself. But he did. The screams were stifled, abruptly, as if swallowed. He turned to look me, his eyes somehow immediately back to normal. Color returned to his face and hands, so rapidly I began doubt they'd ever been corpse white. His normal, slightly amused expression fixed itself on his lips and brow. He pulled the terror back into himself.  
  
"Hey, Quat. What's up?" he grinned.  
  
+  
  
<Duo's POV>  
  
Upon waking, I realized I'd missed my shower. Yesterday's grime clung to my skin like a film, leaving it clammy. Bile had staled on my tongue, creating a sickening, acidic flavor. I lay in a bed I didn't use, in the room I didn't share with Quatre. The walls were clean, their simple wallpaper patterns untouched by blood. Wufei sat in a chair next to me, reading a book. Looked like someone's journal. Or maybe it was his. Interesting idea, Wufei having a journal. I would've commented, made some smartass remark as was my way. But, I stopped, my mouth open.  
  
I could hear them.  
  
They were everywhere, whispering to me, talking to me. I could barely understand them at times, their voices were so faint. But they were always accusing, always mumbling about my betrayal. Had I forgotten what I did to them, they asked? Had I forgotten what I was? How dare I think I should be allowed to roam free, with people who didn't have such a mark on them. They knew what I did, though. They'd always known.  
  
I didn't believe in ghosts, only memories. But now my memories had voices, words, things to taunt me with. Too late. I was always too late. I didn't even realize I was screaming. Didn't realize I was begging them to stop, for them to shut up, to _please_ just shut up.  
  
"Duo."  
  
I wasn't alone in the room anymore. Quatre stood there, his surprise so evident, it must've been written across his features in ink. No question about it: he'd heard my screams. If there was ever a time for running and hiding, it was now. The window was on the opposite side of the room. My blonde companion blocked the doorway. Besides, I'd managed to hurt my ankle this morning. It was bandaged now, tenderly cared for by the young murderer in front of me, no doubt. But it was still as effective as a pair of leg-irons.  
  
I was caught.  
  
I steadied my pulse, relaxed my breathing until it felt as though I wasn't breathing at all. The whispers died down in my ears, still there, but barely so. I summoned my alter ego, who knew nothing about whispers or zombies or walls that bled. I regarded Quatre with a cool gaze, as if he'd walked in on me reading porn or jacking off. My lips were eternally quirked in a slight smile. My eyes held the soul of an easy-going, lazy teen; I was a worriless child.  
  
"Hey Quat," I said, "What's up?"  
  
He frowned, "I was going to ask you that."  
  
"Oh, not much. Just hanging out in bed. Can't do too much, ya know," I shrugged.  
  
"What's going on Duo?" he asked. I saw his patience draining away.  
  
"You tell me," I said. I was going to win this. I knew I would.   
  
"I was hoping you'd explain this morning. You shattered a glass door, risked jumping down a staircase and puked on the front lawn," Quatre said, deadpan, in the true Heero Yuy style. His expression was even bland like Heero's.  
  
"What can I say? I'm a party animal," I put both arms behind my head, grinning widely. I was a Cheshire Cat in my own right.  
  
Quatre stayed silent for a moment.  
  
"You're saying you were drunk?" he asked me.  
  
I shrugged, "And a few other things."  
  
"What about just now? What happened?" he persisted.  
  
"I saw Wufei when I woke up. Wouldn't you panic?" I smirked.  
  
His eyes bored into my like blue lasers. They urged me - begged me - to tell the truth. If he could have reached into my soul and pulled out an answer, he would have. I could tell. I stared back, dumbly. _You can't win Quatre. You never could. This is years beyond you. You'll never know. No one will ever know, except for me. That's the way it is. That's the way it has to be. Go find someone worth saving because it isn't me. Save Trowa. And Wufei. But I'm beyond your help, so go mind your own goddamn business._  
  
"Duo."   
  
I looked away, "There's nothing else to tell."  
  
He was quiet again. I felt the temperature drop a few degrees.  
  
"Fuck you," he said.  
  
The door clicked shut behind him. I listened to him insert the key in the lock. A real smile, my own twisted smile, touched my lips. They were whispering again, but I didn't hear them. I settled back into the pillows. I knew I'd win. None of them could ever beat me at my game.   
  
"It's about time, Quatre."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Lyssira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

<Duo's POV>  
  
The room was silent. Any noise I made seemed thunderous. Every time I considered moving, the bed squeaked. And when it squeaked, it was loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. It took me an hour to get out of the damn thing. I knew someone was listening at the door - probably Heero - so they'd know everything I did. I gathered up my stuff, stowing it neatly in my single, canvass duffle. It'd been a gift from Howard. He said it would probably outlast me and the colonies. I'd begun to believe him by then.   
  
My luggage in hand, I hobbled over to the window. Grayish sunlight streamed through the glass, belying the storm clouds in the sky outside. A storm would be a good cover for my escape. People would be inside. It wouldn't matter if Deathscythe and I made our getaway. I unlocked the window, examining its width. I was thin enough to slip through. If would open. I tested it.  
  
Painted shut. Shit.  
  
I flopped back onto the bed, listening to the metal springs screech their protests. I fingered the end of my braid. It was too quiet. The daytime is supposed to be noisy and active. But I was by myself. And there was no one to listen to. Even the whispers had quieted until their words were no longer coherent. I squirmed. Humming didn't work. Any song I knew was one from then. I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to think about lullabies or work songs. I didn't want to remember her voice. I bounced on the bed instead.  
  
Wufei had taken his book with him. And I had none of my own. Quatre read the newspapers more than anything else. I suppose he left his books with the Maguanacs. Or maybe they're with that family he refuses to talk about. I missed reading; the last book in my possession was probably *Charlotte's Web*. Nothing to do. I glanced at the old rocking chair. Its last staining job had been worn off by time and use. The woven seat was rotted and split. It was narrow, just narrow enough.  
  
The window shattered nicely when I threw the chair at it.  
  
It took Heero, Trowa and Wufei all of a second to burst through the door. I smiled my sweetest smiled for them. The front half of the chair hung out of the demolished window. I was sure the kids across the street were getting a good look at it right about then. Heero glared at me while the other two removed the furniture from its current resting place. It was a shame that it couldn't fit through the frame. That poor chair looked like it could have used a merciful death. Certainly spending its last days in the company of Heero and Trowa was enough to warrant mercy.  
  
"You rang?" Heero asked sardonically.  
  
"Yes, dear boy, I require a glass of ice water, a paper-thin slice of roast beast and a box of liquorice-flavored condoms."  
  
"No Playboy?"  
  
"Now that you mention it, some magazines wouldn't be so bad," my smile broadened.   
  
"Fuck off, Duo," he told me. I could see him struggling not to strangle me outright.   
  
_Yes, soldier boy, I am the rash on your ass that you can't reach._  
  
"You know, that wasn't new the first time you said it either," I reminded him.  
  
"....."  
  
"Besides, I can't without my condoms. Isn't safe you - and your fair princess - should know." The chair was safely retrieved and now rested at my bedside. I leveled myself out of bed, giving the red- faced soldier and his companions a salute. Before any of them said anything, I limped out the door, my bag in hand. Hell if I was going to stay with that peanut gallery. I shuffled down the stairs, walking the awkward, halting walk of an hurt person. It wasn't the first injury I can remember affecting me that way. It probably won't be the last.  
  
I reached Deathscythe soon enough. The murmurs were growing in strength again, as I left my comrades behind. I surveyed the outdoors. There were several oblivious townsfolk on the sidewalk outside of our safehouse, gesturing at the busted window. They talked among themselves, gossiping. They knew nothing about us; they probably thought we were drug-dealers. By the time we were traced here, these people wouldn't remember us anyway. There would be a new weirdo to finger and point at when something went wrong. That's how people are in small towns. Unlike city people, they actually give a shit about neighbor gossip. And unlike them both, the colony's people had never had time for gossip. They were too busy dealing with being colony people.  
  
And us? We were wanderers, loose ends. In the end, it didn't matter what we did.  
  
I pulled myself into my Gundam, wondering why I'd ever bothered to leave the shelter of its metal embrace. I knew better than to risk it now. My `fellows' couldn't find out anything else. If they did, there's no telling what they'd construe from the scattered puzzle pieces. The four of them may have been murderers. They may have been lackeys. But they weren't stupid. They were enough like me to understand. And I couldn't let them.   
  
Deathscythe's dark interior was my greatest comfort that mid- afternoon. In it, I typed an encoded message to our five benefactors, informing them I was leaving. No matter what they said, I was gone. If it meant I was free of their help as well, so be it. It wouldn't be the first time I was alone, on my own. I'd leave that night, around midnight. It should have been storming by then. The air would have been thick with rain. There wouldn't have been enough light to discern nightmare from reality. Free.  
  
The temperature outside dropped, converting my MS into a Gundanium refrigerator. I layered my clothing from the duffle until my bulky form resembled that of a homeless person in mid-December. I hugged my arms against my chest beneath the many layers of tee-shirts, sweatshirts and over-shirts. My fingers were icy against my skin. One fist circled around the cross hanging in the hollow of my throat. I rubbed the smooth metal, more in habit than in prayer.   
  
My cheeks were numb from the caresses of cold air. Without a mirror, I knew my ears were cherry red. I wrapped my arms around my knees, gathering the heat of my own blood to me. Hugs had been a rare thing before I was an official orphan at an orphanage. When you're seven and your only companions are other kids, you don't do much hugging. Adults didn't want to hug you. And when they did, it was because their breath stank of alcohol and they didn't know the difference between you and the kids they drank into foster homes. No, the first time she hugged me, I didn't even realize what was going on.   
  
There was a perfect cross-shaped imprint in my hand by now and five crescent marks where my fingernails broke the skin. I burrowed farther into myself. My eyes drifted shut and mused over the other four. No one said much about their pasts, not even Quatre. Around Wufei, you don't talk, think or breathe about the subject. Whatever happened to him was bad, maybe even worse than what happened to Heero and Trowa. They were orphans, like me. But not quite so lucky. They wouldn't want my pity, either. Then, the less lucky you are, the less likely you are to screw it all up. So they had it better all along.  
  
The clock on my consol read 5:00 PM. It would be dark out soon. The days were becoming shorter.  
  
_Might as well sleep. It's safer. As long as I don't dream._  
  
\+   
  
But the dreams were there.  
  
Everywhere I turned there were faces I knew. Thousands of them; some of them were people I had only glanced at on the street once. My subconscious summoned them to surround me. Heero, Quatre, Trowa and Wufei joined the masses, their faces blurred among so many others. My surrogate family, the only one I'd ever known, stood with them. They were all watching, just watching me.   
  
Warm fluid trickled down my skin.   
  
I stared down at my arms. They were bleeding. As if my very pores were wounds, they were bleeding. I shuddered and faced the mass of people around me. But the blood ran down my cheeks like tears. I could only see red, only red again. Like that morning in the shower. Sheets of red rain poured upon me. Those around me dripped blood. They moved forward, hands outstretched. Heero, Quatre, Trowa and Wufei grabbed me by my clothes, lifting me up into the crowd's embrace. It was red everywhere. They cried blood. They screamed it, breathed it. Their snatching fingers pulled at my clothes and hair.  
  
They were saying things I couldn't understand. Why couldn't I understand them?  
  
Explosions went off in my mind. There were flashes of blinding light. Why couldn't I understand? Lances of pain shot through me. They were everywhere, stabbing me. Their blades sank into my flesh again and again. They wouldn't stop talking. Their words were a buzz in my ears, as if an insect had been trapped inside my head. The light shone down upon me, like sunlight and moonlight but neither. It was red-hot, like molten metal. But sunlight wasn't supposed to be like that. The daytime was safe. It was the night I had to run from, the night who understand all too well.  
  
I fought them. I struggled against their grasping hands, their meaningless words. I kicked and punched. The gun found its way to my hand. I fired shot after shot. I ripped through their fragile skin and muscle with Deathscythe's scythe in my hand. I whirled it around, decapitating my friends, dismembering people I'd grown up with. But it was me or them. I had to. I had to kill them all. I brought the scythe down again and again. There were thousands of them. They had to die.  
  
I would kill them.  
  
+  
  
Thunder shattered my dreamworld and I bolted upright. Outside the safety of my Gundam's hull, the storm rattled the windows of our improvised hangar. I glanced at the clock again. 11:50 PM. Sweat had crystalized on my skin. It suddenly became unbearably hot, like that place in my dream. I squirmed out of my layers until my typical black outfit remained. Deathscythe's controls were solid and real against my fingers. 11:50 . . . There was time for a final errand before I left the company of my comrades. I wanted my gun back. Heero had enough of his own.   
  
And after all, I should say goodbye right? Quatre would be so disappointed if I didn't.   
  
I jumped from the cockpit, ignoring my body's protest of the strain it put on my left foot. I smiled up at the five giants that towered over me. They stared into the dark with blank eyes. They were nothing but big toys. They were pieces in the game we played. My black companion had always been my favorite. Not to the belittle Wing, but big guns tend to be compensations for other things. I would also hate to constantly be running out of ammunition, like my dear friend the clown. Quatre and Sandrock were suited to each other, as `Scythe and I were. And Nataku? Wufei practically made to love to his Gundam, adored it to the point of worship. Poor guy.   
  
I sauntered out into the rain. It was water. I smiled. The cool liquid soaked me through, but I barely noticed. I let the rain trickled in between my parted lips. Very refreshing. Lightning split the sky, crackling in a rainbow of colors. It lit up the yard and outshone the artificial lights in the windows around the neighborhood. Nature had her own fireworks, it seemed. Thunder clapped high above my head. Beautiful.  
  
I picked my way into the house again. It was a shame they didn't trust me. I was hurt.   
  
I crept into the kitchen. My sodden clothing dripped onto the tile flooring. It created a little tune, which I hummed along to. It had been a while since I heard music I could enjoy.   
  
The living room was empty. It looked like they were all tucked away in bed.   
  
"Sweet dreams," I said out loud and laughed at my own joke. Ask any soldier's wife. There was no such thing as a sweet dream.  
  
The stairs didn't betray me as I snaked upstairs. I thanked them under my breath. They whispered back. The walls whispered to me. The lights deadened in their fixtures told me of the cold. They told me that all the boys were safe in their rooms, under the covers, the thunder muffled by pillows and sleep. My braid and my shadow followed me as I approached the first door. That was the room I didn't share with Quatre.  
  
He was all by himself. How sad.  
  
I opened the door.  
  
"Sin is lurking at the door," I said.  
  
"And its desire is for you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Lyssira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

<Quatre's POV>  
  
At first I thought it was the storm that woke me. I loved thunderstorms but they have a tendency to keep me awake. Not that it mattered. I decided it wouldn't harm me to sit and watch the lightning and rain for a while. I shifted on the mattress, which was overstuffed. Then I saw a haggard form looming over me. It had to have been a trick of lightning and sleep, but the form remained. And soon I saw it was Duo. He was soaked with rain and panted heavily. With the next flash of lightning, I saw his pupils were mere pinpricks in seas of violet. A maniac's grin split his pale face.  
  
"Ah, Duo?" I asked. Maybe I was dreaming.  
  
He reached out one hand and cupped my cheek. His fingers were so cold they burned. I tried to pull away but he wouldn't let me. His strength had somehow returned to him during the night. He put his face close to mine. I squirmed, but he leaned closer, ever closer. I couldn't smell alcohol on his breath. But he'd never been drunk, so I wasn't surprised. His eyes enveloped me until I couldn't even see myself in my murky depths. There was none of his usual wry humor in those eyes. There was nothing of Duo at all.  
  
He pressed his lips to mine. His mouth was frozen. It seemed to draw all the heat from me, pulling my very energy out. There was no emotion in the touch. I doubted he even realized he'd kissed me. I struggled against the embrace. He clamped both hands around my neck, firmly trapping me in that position. I stared into his wide open eyes. They seemed to glow red with malevolence. Oxygen failed to reach my lungs, then my brain. I felt dizzy. It took me a moment to realize his hands were tightening around my throat, bruising, closing my air-pipe.  
  
I shoved at him and threw all my weight against his chest. Strong though he was, Duo weighed no more than I did. We tumbled onto the floor. He made no sound. He didn't even move. I lay there gasping like a fish on land, trying to draw water into its gills and finding done. I wheezed. My voice failed me. There was no way to call for help.   
  
He was on me again before I reason out a way to escape. Both fists pummeled my face and arms as I held him off. He pulled at my hair, clawed at my skin. I could not spare a hand to protect myself. Both were firmly pressed against him, to prevent him from strangling me. I brought my knee up between us and drove it into his groin. Somewhere I reminded myself to apologize later. Dirty move, but he was trying to kill me. And I couldn't fathom why.   
  
He rolled onto his side, giving me an opportunity to get to my feet. He rammed himself at me, slamming us both against the wall. I fought him off with both hands. I managed to punch him several times, though he scored just as many, if not more, hits on me. My lip was bloody, as well as my nose. He'd smashed my head against the wall twice. With both feet, I rammed him backwards. His skull connected with the hardwood floor. By then I was soaked, with sweat and rainwater from his clothes.   
  
"Duo. . ."I choked on my own saliva. I couldn't speak to reason with him.   
  
"You'll all die," he said. That was it, before he charged again. We collided with the wall besides the broken window. Trowa and Heero had helped me tape it up earlier. Now Duo ripped the tap away to expose the shards of glass still implanted in the wood. He looked at me blankly, then at the glass sparkling in the rain. He wrapped a hand around it. Blood bubbled up from his hand but he ignored it. It dripped down his wrists and arms. I stared at it, dumbfounded.   
  
He lunged at me with the glass in hand. It was aimed right for my exposed chest.   
  
I rolled out of his way. The glass sank an inch into the wall. He looked at it and at his hands. I saw them shake in the next flash of lightning. Thunder roared while he stared at them. Finally, he smeared both hands across his face, leaving a crimson trail. Rain poured in through the window, dousing the floor, furniture and both of us. Bleeding arms outstretched, Duo walked towards me, as if still dreaming. His eyes held no emotion whatsoever. For the first time, despite all of our battles, I was afraid. The violence I'd welcomed before stared me back in the face. And I was terrified.   
  
His trembling legs barely supported him but he advanced in my direction. I backed into the old rocking chair, which he'd flung through that broken window earlier. It creaked against my weight. Its own supports were barely attached, connected to the base by chewing gum and duct tape. I gripped one of the posts and pulled. Duo was five feet from me now. The chair groaned in protest as I yanked on that post. Four feet. It splintered against the pressure. Three feet. It was nearly off, hanging on by the few good fibers like a rotting tooth attached by a few stringy roots.   
  
Two feet. It was mine. I raised the post over my head.  
  
One foot. It collided against Duo's skull. He faltered, dazed. I hit him again. And again. I don't remember how many times I struck him until Heero and Trowa pulled me off him. I do remember I grabbed Trowa and refused to let go for several minutes while Wufei and Heero moved him into the third bedroom. Wufei said something about handcuffs and ran downstairs. Trowa held me tight. It was much more than I would have expected from him, since he was prone to avoiding physical contact. I hugged him back. God, all I could do was hug him back.  
  
+  
  
<Heero's POV>  
  
Trowa may be a restless sleeper but he's always a heavy one. I doubted that Wing's beam cannon would rouse him from sleep if I fired it right next to him. I heard the collisions against our wall. It sounded as if Quatre was either sleep-fighting or confronting an intruder. There were whimpers of pain, grunts. I finally managed to wake Trowa after several minutes of shaking and prodding. I was tempted to slap him a few times as well. Damn him for looking so peaceful. Damn him for being able to sleep so soundly.  
  
We broke in Quatre's door. I mused that it was becoming a common occurrence. Quatre leaned over his attacker and struck him hard with the leg of the rocking chair. The person - most certainly Duo - collapsed and lay still. Yet Quatre continued hitting him. I watched him for a while for no reason while Trowa approached the blonde. His eyes were wild with terror and anger. Duo had looked that same way this morning. The same blind, mindless pain clouded their eyes. I joined Trowa in prying Quatre's hand from the wooden post. He didn't want to let go. Not that I blamed him. Blood ran sluggishly down his face. And I knew what Duo's punches felt like from experience.  
  
Duo was soaked through. Apparently he'd taken a walk in the rain before entering the safehouse to murder Quatre. He too had a split lip and growing lump in the back his head. His hands also bled sluggishly. I struggled to lift him from his sprawled position. He was surprisingly heavy for someone so lean. Wufei arrived, as if by magic, to help me carry him through the open door. Trowa was occupied with `other things'.   
  
We left Duo in Wufei's room where he could do less damage. The window in there was too small to escape through. There was little for him to throw or destroy. Wufei carried few possessions, mostly extra clothes and his katana, which was safely stowed at his side. He left me, muttering something about handcuffs. I nodded. It wasn't a bad idea; I slipped Duo's lock picks out of the second twist in his braid. He groaned his sleep at my touch, as if he realized his imprisonment. I ripped a strip from his undershirt and held it against his lip. I used a similar piece to bind his hand.   
  
I sat back to watch Duo. Even in sleep his face was slightly mocking; the lines of pain had faded with his unconsciousness. His eyes were too big. His nose turned upward obnoxiously. His lip, split and swollen was hardly attractive. What was it that most people found so captivating?   
  
"I knew what you were from the beginning," I told him softly. "You're like the rest of us. You have no soul, no heart, no worth. You're cheap. None of us mean anything in this war, except for Quatre maybe. Is that why?"   
  
He stirred.  
  
"Here," Wufei said, from behind me. He held out the handcuffs, watching Duo warily.   
  
"You can put your stuff in my room," I told him, "Trowa will want to stay with Quatre tonight."  
  
"And you?"   
  
"I'm going to make sure he doesn't go anywhere. We can decide what to do with him in the morning," I fastened the handcuffs around those bony wrists. How he ever managed to handle a Gundam was beyond me.   
  
"If you need anything," Wufei murmured, "Just let me know."  
  
I nodded and leaned against the wall. My gun rested in one hand, the safety clicked off. It would only take one shot to end it at this range. One shot and he'd be dead. I could prove him wrong on that count. _No worries, Duo. I can kill at close range. This time I'll be happy to do it._  
  
+  
  
<Quatre's POV>  
  
I unbuttoned my shirt, revealing the darkening marks on my chest. They twinged in response.   
  
"He did that to you?" I could almost taste the edge in Trowa's voice.  
  
"Yes­and no," I said and slipped the fabric from my skin. It was darkened with blood. Mine and Duo's.  
  
"And no?" He handed me the cream. I spread it over the injuries.   
  
"I don't think he meant to do that."  
  
"Quatre­"  
  
"Honestly, that _wasn't_ Duo. That was someone else."  
  
"He just happened to have Duo's body," he said dryly.  
  
"You don't have to help me, you know," I snapped. I wished I hadn't broken down in front of him. I was tired of being taken for an innocent, little child. My father and sisters did that for thirteen years. Now my only comrades were mimicking their overprotective, all knowing ways. I gritted my teeth.  
  
"It's far-fetched; you know that," His patience irritated me. He was re-taping the window with the calm competence I'd come to associate with Trowa. He'd also insisted on staying with me tonight.   
  
"We shouldn't be blaming him," I said.  
  
"I was open before, Quatre, but now it's different."  
  
I glared, "No, it isn't. It's the same thing that happened to Wufei."  
  
"That could have been an accident. Now, we have to assume now that he's betrayed us. He's not acting."  
  
"No, he's not. But he didn't mean to hurt anyone," I protested.  
  
"He tried to strangle you."  
  
I pulled a sweater on to cover up the marks, ". . . ."  
  
"There's nothing we can do anyway. Heero's not going to listen to anyone on this," Trowa pointed out.  
  
"I know," I slid back into my bed.  
  
"And what happened just now? That wasn't nothing," he continued.  
  
"I know." The mattress accepted my weight and cradled me against its padded springs. I sighed.  
  
"Then do me a favor and don't scare me like that again, okay?"  
  
I turned to look at Trowa. Both eyes were on me, even as he was halfway into the other bed. His hands clenched the coverlet until the knuckles went white. I blinked, startled, at his reaction. Then, I nodded.  
  
"Okay."


	8. Ending 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Lyssira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

<Duo's POV>  
  
My head was throbbing, pulsing with the pain. I felt as if someone had dropped Deathscythe on it a few times. I thought my skull might burst because the pressure was so great. Even in the partial dreamworld of gray I could not escape the agony of it. It was that searing, bright light in my world, cutting through everything as easily as a knife through hot butter. Finally, I opened my eyes. I needed painkillers. I needed them then, right then. I groaned with the pain, the animal groan of simple extinct. I *hurt*, therefore I was.   
  
I wasn't in my own room. I was in Wufei's. My wrists were handcuffed and I lay awkwardly on his pile of mats. I wasn't alone. Heero bent over me. His blue eyes were empty, simply watching. No false concern from that one. Not ever.  
  
"Ugnnn . . ." I said.  
  
"He's alright, if you care," he told me in that matter-of-fact-I'm- one-hell-of-an-annoying-bastard voice of his.  
  
"Who's alright? And why would I care?" I mumbled, covering my face in my hands. Cracks of sunlight filtered in through the curtains. Each crack was a bullet in my skull. This was a hangover without the liquor. I moaned quietly.  
  
"Quatre. And I didn't think you would," Heero said.  
  
"What happened to Quatre?" I asked. I looked at him out of the corner of one eye. There was something odd going on. Heero was being conversational, almost chatty. Something boiled beneath the cool exterior. And I had a sinking feeling I would be on the receiving end soon enough.  
  
"He was attacked this morning. You tried to strangle him, then stab him."  
  
I stared at Heero.   
  
"What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Trying. To. Pull," my voice surprised me. It was deadly still, icy even. But then, it matched my insides at that moment.  
  
"It isn't a lie, Duo. You did. He has the marks to prove it. And you, if I'm not mistaken, have the headache to confirm it as well. He had to knock you out to protect himself," all in that same tone. As if he'd just told me the sky was blue or it had rained last night.  
  
I smashed the cuffs against the hardwood floor. I'd meant to leave that night hadn't I? I was supposed to be gone by midnight. I was supposed to be free by now.  
  
Had I attacked Quatre?  
  
I reached into the second twist in my braid. No lockpicks. I glared at Heero. He sat there, cross-legged, in a pair of jeans and a blue sweater. It was getting too cold for spandex, I suppose. But there was almost a trace of a smile on his lips, a cool smile. The kind of expression that is gloating without words. And why wouldn't he have reason to gloat? Heero had caught me at last. No amount of fast- talking or taunting would get me out of this one. He'd been right about me along. I was a traitor. I was dangerous. And he'd get to shoot me.  
  
I guess he wouldn't expect that I was relieved.  
  
"Now what happens? I noticed you got me locked up. To tell the truth, Heero, I was never really into bondage. But hey, whatever turns you on," I quipped.   
  
"We can't let you go," he said.  
  
"Destroy all obstacles; I know, buddy boy," I smirked.  
  
"We can't let you stay," he continued.  
  
"I'm a danger to your little team. No worries, I understand."  
  
"You have to die," he pulled out the gun. It was small and black; this was Heero's favorite kind of weapon. Not very accurate at long range, but it would get the job done. I smiled.  
  
"Then what are we waiting for? Pull the trigger!"   
  
"What?" he blinked, even faltered somewhat.  
  
"Kill me! I'm waitin'!" I reclined casually against the workout pads. _They_ were whispering again, adding to the pulsating headache which had settled in my brain. Their whispers buzzed louder and louder like a hive of neurotic bees. I could almost see them in the air around me, almost see the details of their faces. Like in my dream, they were gathered around, watching. They were waiting for me to join them, become one of them. I'd finally pay the price for my crimes. That's what they'd wanted all along.   
  
Heero loosened his grip on his gun, "You want to die?"  
  
_No shit..._  
  
"Might as well, you know. Not much point in hanging around this popsicle stand anymore."  
  
They were almost real, almost solid. The air around me was thickening, turning opaque, taking shape. Human shape. I shuddered.  
  
"Hurry up, Heero," I growled.   
  
"But. . ."He looked at the gun, then at me.  
  
"It's not rocket science; pull the goddamn trigger!"  
  
I'd missed my chance again. He wasn't gonna do it. Heero wasn't cold enough. He never had been. He wouldn't kill Relena. And he wouldn't kill me. At least, not without some encouragement. They had arms and legs, but no faces. I could feel their eyes on me, watching me. I swallowed hard. Heero was standing now, the gun clenched in his hands. He couldn't see the still forms on either side of him. They were all around, watching me. Always watching me. And their whispers were louder than ever, still accusing, still chanting the mantra of my own guilt.   
  
I screamed; the sound was an unearthly noise that surely came from hell itself. Heero's eyes were on me as well, wide with surprise. And. . .understanding? Shit.  
  
I threw myself at the gun pointed towards my chest, confidant in the outcome.   
  
Heero's finger snapped on the trigger.   
  
_Great reflexes, Superman._   
  
The shot was the last noise to reach my ears.  
  
+  
  
<Heero's POV>  
  
The moment I pulled the trigger, I realized what I'd done.   
  
My legs propelled me forward before I could think. I caught him as he fell.  
  
He was still, deadweight in my arms. Dark, sinister liquid stained the front of his shirt. I pressed one hand to the wound, trembling as liquid bubbled up between my fingers. His eyes became slitted and glassy. I cradled him against me, not registering the tears streaming down my face.  
  
"Oh God. . ."  
  
"Shh."  
  
I turned towards the source of the voice. The room was filled with icy mist. It made the walls even more drab, stained the floor a duller shade of gray-brown. I shivered; gooseflesh formed on the exposed skin of my neck and face. There were figures standing around Duo and I. They hovered over my shoulder. A pale, white hand even passed through my flesh at one point. It was strange sensation, like pins and needles. I stared up at the owner of the voice. It had no face, but it seemed to be a woman. She stood over us in front of all others.  
  
"I. . . "  
  
With one hand I unconsciously stroked Duo's hair. The warmth was rapidly escaping from his still form; it raced into the freedom of the open air and abandoned him.   
  
"It's alright," she said. Her voice was motherly and warm despite the dropping temperatures around us. It was warm even as the warmth left the veins of the boy I held.  
  
Duo stared blankly at her, his jaw working in fear. With his quickly fading strength, he tried to fight me. He wanted to get away badly for some reason. I stared into the almost-discernable eyes of the phantom above me. I saw a reflection of my comrade. He was younger, softer. Whatever had happened in his past had not yet touched that reflection. What the fuck was going on?  
  
The room faded from us to reveal a landscape of a destroyed city. Apartment buildings had collapsed around us, crumbled monuments to destruction. I'd been in a similar city once, with the same pillars of smoke rising from the wreckage. Fires died in the morning light, as they had before. The dead escaped into the dawn, using the soft pink clouds of early morning to ride into the next world. On the colonies dawn was an illusion. There were no clouds, no streaks of violet and gold. I sat on a emerald lawn, Duo still wrapped up in my arms. He was lighter now and his head rested against my chest.   
  
The phantom was crouched before us, her face mere millimeters from Duo's. He was trembling, but whether it was from fear or death, I did not know. My own fears were beyond the body. My soul trembled as I held Duo, who'd taunted me every day since I first met him. He was a nuisance, a constant thorn in my side. But I'd never meant to shoot him. I never would have. Believe me when I say that I never would have.  
  
The phantom passed her icy hands through Duo's cheek. She ran her fingers through his hair, barely able to touch. He whimpered. She dropped her head down to lay a kiss on his face. Then her attention turned to the wound in his abdomen. She looked at me, the features on her face forming into a kind expression. She whispered something in Duo's ear, something I thought I heard, but couldn't have. It couldn't have been that.  
  
It sounded very much like, "I forgive you."  
  
Then there was a brilliant flash. She disappeared into Duo's chest­no into the wound I'd made in him. As she passed through him, she passed through me. I felt my insides grow cold, then warm. My heart pounded in my chest. My lungs could not bring in any air. I was detached from the Earth. I felt only her, as she streamed through both of us. Then, the decimated city was gone from my sight and we once again lay on the floor.  
  
Duo stirred in my embrace. I watched, incredulous. He opened both eyes to look into mine. For a moment, he didn't realize who I was. Mid-yawn he choked and looked at me again. He jumped.  
  
" _Heero_?" he asked.  
  
"...." I was speechless. How could he be alive? I shot him. His shirt front was wet with his own blood. I unbuttoned the shirt. He was so stunned he didn't protest. The shirt revealed pale flesh­unmarred. There was not a mark on him, save for old wounds long healed. I lay one hand over the place where the bullet should have been, must have been. Duo squirmed under my touch.  
  
"Ummm...Heero?"  
  
I snapped upright, startled. His eyes were fixed on my hand where it touched his skin. I reddened. Then, I did something I'd never done before that day.  
  
I cried.  
  
"Heero?"  
  
Hot tears streamed down my face, touching my lips with their salty moisture.  
  
"Heero?"  
  
He didn't fight my touch; he seemed to welcome it. His strength was gone and he lay lax in the circle of my arms.  
  
"Heero, you're scaring me, ok? What happened?"  
  
I shot him. I'd never meant to shoot him. Or anyone. Why couldn't I be more like her?   
  
"I really need to stop falling asleep in Deathscythe. This is a dream isn't it?" He was bewildered. He watched me wide-eyed.  
  
I understood his confusion. And my own. I wondered why Quatre, Trowa and Wufei hadn't broken the door down by now. I heard them pounding on it, faintly. What could I tell them? What could I tell any of them?  
  
I looked down at Duo and something bubbled up in my chest. It was laughter, that half-hysterical laughter of the desperate and relieved. I laughed. Duo gave me a wary look.  
  
"Heero, you are one crazy asshole."  
  
Then, he laughed too.  
  
End


	9. Alternate Ending - Angst!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Lyssira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

<Duo's POV>  
  
My head was throbbing, pulsing with the pain. I felt as if someone had dropped Deathscythe on it a few times. I thought my skull might burst because the pressure was so great. Even in the partial dreamworld of gray I could not escape the agony of it. It was a searing, bright light in my world, cutting through everything as easily as knife through hot butter. Finally, I opened my eyes. I needed painkillers. I needed them then, right then. I groaned with the pain, the animal groan of simple instinct. I _hurt_ , therefore I was.  
  
I wasn't in my own room. I was in Wufei's. My wrists were handcuffed and I laid on his pile of mats. I wasn't alone. Heero bent over me. His blue eyes were empty, simply watching. No false concern from that one. Not ever.  
  
"Ugnnn . . ." I said.  
  
"He's alright, if you care," he told me in that matter-of-fact-I'm- one-hell-of-an-annoying-bastard voice of his.  
  
"Who's alright? And why would I care?" I mumbled, covering my face in my hands. Cracks of sunlight filtered in through the curtains. Each of those cracks was a bullet in my skull. This was a hangover without the liquor. I moaned quietly.  
  
"Quatre. And I didn't think you would," Heero said.  
  
"What happened to Quatre?" I asked. I looked at him out of the corner of one eye. There was something odd going on. Heero was being conversational, almost chatty. Something boiled beneath the cool exterior. And I had a sinking feeling I would be on the receiving end soon enough.  
  
"He was attacked this morning. You tried to strangle him, then stab him."  
  
I stared at Heero.  
  
"What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Trying. To. Pull," my voice surprised me. It was deadly still, icy even. But then, it matched my insides at that moment.  
  
"It isn't a lie, Duo. You did. He has the marks to prove it. And you, if I'm not mistaken, have the headache to confirm it as well. He had to knock you out to protect himself," all in that same tone. As if he'd just told me the sky was blue or it had rained last night.  
  
I smashed the cuffs against the hardwood floor. I'd meant to leave that night hadn't I? I was supposed to be gone by midnight. I was supposed to be free by now.  
  
Had I attacked Quatre?  
  
I reached into the second twist in my braid. No lockpicks. I glared at Heero. He sat there, cross-legged, in a pair of jeans and a blue sweater. It was getting too cold for spandex, I suppose. But there was almost a trace of a smile on his lips, a cool smile. The kind of expression that is gloating without words. And why wouldn't he have reason to gloat? Heero had caught me at last. No amount of fast- talking or taunting would get me out of this one. He'd been right about me along. I was a traitor. I was dangerous. And he'd get to shoot me.  
  
I guess he wouldn't expect that I was relieved.  
  
"Now what happens? I noticed you got me locked up. To tell the truth, Heero, I was never really into bondage. But hey, whatever turns you on," I quipped.  
  
"We can't let you go," he said.  
  
"Destroy all obstacles; I know, buddy boy," I smirked.  
  
"We can't let you stay," he continued.  
  
"I'm a danger to your little team. No worries, I understand."  
  
"You have to die," he pulled out the gun. It was small and black; this was Heero's favorite kind of weapon. Not very accurate at long range, but it would get the job done. I smiled.  
  
"Then what are we waiting for? Pull the trigger!"  
  
"What?" he blinked, even falter somewhat.  
  
"Kill me! I'm waitin'!" I reclined casually against the workout pads. They were whispering again, adding to the pulsating headache which settled in my brain. Their whispers buzzed louder and louder like a hive of neurotic bees. I could almost see them in the air around me, almost see the details of their faces. Like in my dream, they were gathered around, watching. They were waiting for me to join them, become one of them. I'd finally pay the price for my crimes. That's what they'd wanted all along.  
  
Heero loosened his grip on his gun, "You want to die?"  
  
_No shit..._  
  
"Might as well, you know. Not much point to hanging around this popsicle stand anymore."  
  
They were almost real, almost solid. The air around me was thickening, turning opaque, taking shape. Human shape. I shuddered.  
  
"Hurry up, Heero," I growled.  
  
"But. . ."He looked at the gun, then at me.  
  
"It's not rocket science; pull the goddamn trigger!"  
  
I'd missed my chance again. He wasn't gonna do it. Heero wasn't cold enough. He never had been. He wouldn't kill Relena. And he wouldn't kill me. At least, not without some encouragement. They had arms and legs, but no faces. I could feel their eyes on me, watching me. I swallowed hard. Heero was standing now, the gun clenched in his hands. He couldn't see the still forms on either side of him. They were all around, watching me. Always watching me. And their whispers were louder than ever, still accusing, still chanting the mantra of my own guilt.  
  
I screamed; the sound was an unearthly noise that surely came from hell itself. Heero's eyes were on me as well, wide with surprise. And. . .understanding? Shit.  
  
I threw myself at the gun pointed towards my chest, confidant in the outcome.  
  
Heero's finger snapped on the trigger.  
__  
Great reflexes, Superman.  
  
The shot was the last noise to reach my ears.  
  
+  
  
<Heero's POV>  
  
The moment I pulled the trigger, I realized what I'd done.  
  
My legs propelled me forward before I could think. I caught him as he fell.  
  
He was still, deadweight in my arms. Dark, sinister liquid stained the front of his shirt. I pressed one hand to the wound, trembling as liquid bubbled up between my fingers. His eyes stared; he didn't notice my presence. I cradled him against me, not registering the tears streaming down my face.  
  
"Oh God. . ."  
  
" _Blood_."  
  
I turned towards the source of the voice, though it was more of an echo than a word. The room filled with icy mist. It made the walls even more drab, stained the floor a duller shade of gray-brown. I shivered, gooseflesh forming on the exposed skin of my neck and face. There were figures standing around Duo and I. They hovered over my shoulder. A pale white hand even passed through my flesh at one point. It was strange sensation, like pins and needles. I stared up the owner of the voice. It had no face, but it seemed to be a woman. She stood over us in front of all others.  
  
"I. . . "  
  
With one hand I unconsciously stroked Duo's hair. The warmth was rapidly escaping from his still form; it raced into the freedom of the open air and abandoned him.  
  
" _It's time_ ," she said.  
  
Duo stared blankly at her, his jaw working in fear. With his fading strength, he tried to fight me. He wanted to get away badly for some reason. I stared into the almost-discernable eyes of the phantom above me. I saw a reflection of my comrade. He was younger, softer. Whatever had happened in his past had not yet touched that reflection. What the fuck was going on?  
  
The room faded from us to reveal a landscape of a destroyed city. Apartment buildings had collapsed around us, crumbled monuments to destruction. I'd been in a similar city once, with the same pillars of smoke rising from the wreckage. Fires died in the morning light, as they had before. The dead escaped into the dawn, using the soft pink clouds of early morning to ride into the next world. On the colonies dawn was an illusion. There were no clouds, no streaks of violet and gold. I sat on a emerald lawn, Duo still wrapped up in my arms. He was lighter now and his head wrested against my chest.  
  
The phantom crouched before us, her face mere millimeters from Duo's. He was trembling, but whether it was from fear or death, I did not know. My own fears were beyond the body. My soul trembled as I held Duo, who'd taunted me every day since I first met him. He was a nuisance, a constant thorn in my side. But I'd never meant to shoot him. I never would have. Believe me when I say that I never would have.  
  
The phantom passed her icy hands through Duo's cheek. She ran her fingers through his hair, barely able to touch. He whimpered. She dropped her head down to lay a kiss on his face. Then her attention turned to the wound in his abdomen. She looked at me, the features on her face forming into a kind expression. She whispered something in Duo's ear, something I thought I heard, but prayed I hadn't.  
  
" _You're one of us, now._ "  
  
Then there was a brilliant flash. She disappeared into Duo's chest no into the wound I'd made in him. As she passed through him, she passed through me. I felt my insides grow cold, then warm. My heart pounded against my ribs. My lungs could not bring in any air. I was detached from the Earth. I felt only her, as she streamed through both of us. Then, the decimated city was gone from my sight and we once again lay on the floor.  
  
Duo was still in my embrace. I watched, my throat tightening until I couldn't breathe even if there was air to be had. His skin was flaxen; his eyes were glassy and empty. Soulless. Unconsciously, my fingers closed those gaping eyes. I can still see them, not accusing but grateful. Too grateful.  
  
I did something I'd never done before.  
  
I cried.  
  
"Heero?" a voice stretched across the abyss, but I ignored it.  
  
Hot tears streamed down my face, touching my lips with their salty moisture.  
  
"Heero?"  
  
I shot him. I'd never meant to shoot him. Or anyone.  
  
Trowa, Quatre and Wufei looked down at me. Their eyes were wide with surprise. Quatre's mouth tightened in grief. What could I tell them? What could I tell any of them?  
  
I looked down at Duo and something bubbled up in my chest. An impulse. I leaned down and pressed my lips against his icy ones. I held him for a long time; to this day I don't know how long. Trowa left the room; Quatre followed shortly. When only Wufei remained, he looked at me with a compassion I'd never noticed before. Then, he too left me alone.  
  
When it was silent save for my breathing, I listened.  
  
He was whispering. To me.  
  
And if I listen, I can truly hear him.  
  
~Owari


End file.
